Incubator
by Havoka
Summary: (Pokemon GO) A nearby Pokéstop has an egg for you. You're more than excited to incubate it, although the procedure is a little different than what you'd expected...


Warning: This fic contains odd and unusual fetishes as well as content that is not meant for children. You have been warned!

* * *

It's incredible just how many people are out on Pokémon journeys alongside you. People of all ages, races and genders are out and about catching Pokémon, challenging gyms, and hitting up local Pokéstops. You've even seen a few pregnant women out there bearing the heat and terrain on your journey. It really is crazy just how dedicated people have become to it.

You yourself have been walking for kilometers when you finally see a round blue sign atop a small building. Pokéstop. As you draw closer you also see a glowing purple attachment fixed underneath the sign. A sweet aroma draws you in. You barely feel the remaining steps as you drift inside the building.

As you walk in, a woman with glasses and a stern expression glances up at you from a desk. "Can I help you?"

You clear your throat and muster your courage. "I'm here for the, um, Pokéstop stuff."

The woman writes something down. Then she wordlessly hands you a clear plastic bag containing two Pokéballs and a Revive. You thank her, and are ready to be on your way when she says from behind you, "Oh, we just obtained an egg from one of our resident breeders. Do you want it?"

An egg! You've never been given an egg before. You eagerly accept the offer. The woman raises an eyebrow at your enthusiasm. "All right. Come with me."

She takes you through a door marked "Restricted Access". Once inside, she hands you her clipboard. The top of the paper reads "Consent Form". It is several pages long. You pretend to skim it, then quickly sign at the bottom. It's probably just stuff about adopting what is essentially a live Pokémon – the Pokéstop wants to make sure it's not on their heads if you drop and break the egg or something.

After you hand the clipboard back the woman escorts you into a small room. It resembles an examining room in a hospital, with a weathered blue table covered in a sheet of waxy white paper, a bunch of no-frills wooden overhead cabinets above a counter the same shade of blue as the bed, and fluorescent lighting in the ceiling that casts everything in the room into overt brightness. There's also something in the corner, but it's covered by a thick white sheet.

The woman gestures for you to climb up on the table. You do as she says, letting your legs dangle just above the spotless tiled floor.

For some reason the woman retrieves a blood pressure band from a drawer in the counter. She wraps it tight around your arm, and begins pumping the handheld air pump to tighten it even further.

"Making sure I'm fit for parenthood?" you try to joke, punctuating your question with a bit of a nervous laugh.

"Just have to make sure you're healthy enough for the procedure. Is this your first time incubating an egg?"

You nod. Then after a moment you ask, "Procedure?"

You don't receive an answer. Instead you feel something damp blotting your arm. Before you can turn to see what the woman is doing, a sudden sharp pain pushes into your upper arm.

You whip your head around to see the woman injecting you with some sort of hypodermic needle.

"What are you doing?!" You try to pull away. The woman holds you in a firm grip. The needle empties its fluid contents into your arm. You feel the strange, cold liquid flow through your veins as the woman withdraws it from your supple skin.

"You read the consent form, didn't you? A sedative is standard protocol for the incubation procedure."

Something is very wrong here. This is not what you signed up for – okay, well maybe it is, but it's not what you wanted! You leap off the table and make a break for the door you came in. The door is locked. You claw desperately at it, your thoughts growing increasingly addled with each passing moment. Some part of you knows you could probably undo these locks, but everything is suddenly feeling very complicated, and you are oh so very tired.

You don't actually fall asleep, but by the time the sedative kicks in you're dopey enough to simply go along when the woman uncovers a medical chair, sits you down in it, and positions your feet in stirrups. She removes your shoes and slides your shorts down to your ankles, then lets them drop carelessly to the floor.

You try to blink away the sleepiness that threatens to overtake you. You can feel your body's adrenaline trying to kick in. It's probably the only thing keeping you awake.

The woman pulls off a second sheet that was covering a strange-looking device in the corner. Then she turns your chair toward it. Through your blurry eyes you see a white-and-green speckled egg, much larger than the eggs you're used to seeing, suspended in a liquid tank atop the machine.

"Relax," the woman says with a note of irritation in her voice. You wonder how she can even tell you're freaked out, since you're too sleepy to even move much. It must be evident on your face. "It's a simple procedure."

She adjusts a lever on the side of the chair that tips it backward, thrusting your crotch up in the air. You notice her pull a pair of latex gloves from a drawer. She puts them on.

"Hold still." She reaches down and slips two fingers into the band of your underwear, then pulls them down until they're at your ankles, like your shorts were. With one yank they're piled on the floor with your other clothes. You glance down and notice, for the first time, a thick white towel padding the floor beneath where you are now bare and exposed to the strange woman.

She tears open a small white packet of some kind. It looks like one of those sanitary wipes. As she unfolds it from the package you see you were correct. She leans down to you and begins massaging your most sensitive area with the cold, damp wipe. You shiver a little. Strangely, the cold sensation doesn't last – within a few seconds your flesh is tingling and growing warmer. The warmth begins to radiate outward, growing stronger and more pleasurable the longer she massages you. Your breath hastens as you feel yourself opening wider to her.

The next feeling you receive is a cold, metallic apparatus pulling your lower lips apart. It forces you to remain opened wide, far wider than you think you've ever been. The woman swabs at your inner walls with something, then draws back. You see a flat wooden stick, like a tongue depressor. Half of it is darker than the other side. It must be wet.

"Okay. You're ready." The woman throws the depressor in a bin labeled "medical waste". Then, in a seemingly uncharacteristic act, she reaches over and pats your hand a little. "Don't be nervous. A lot of trainers actually prefer this method of incubation."

"The...they...d...o...?" The words require a monumental effort to speak them. The woman simply nods in response.

The egg device in the corner has a hose-like attachment hooked to the outside. The woman wipes it down with another sanitary wipe, then gently tugs on it. It extends and stretches outward. She carries it over to you, hovering momentarily above your spread legs with it. Then she slowly feeds it inside you. As open and aroused as you are, the relatively wide hose slides in with ease. The ribbed rubber lining glides against your wet interior and feels, like the sanitizing solution, oddly pleasurable.

You accidentally let out a little moan. You quickly catch yourself, and feel your cheeks redden as you clear your throat. The woman ignores both your moan and your subsequent embarrassment. She feeds the hose so deeply inside that you feel it bump up against something inside of you.

The woman stands up and returns to the machine. There she flicks a switch. The machine whirrs to life, and the egg chamber lights up.

"This is a five kilo egg," she says. "Standard. Not too large. Looks nice and healthy, too. You won't have any problems with this one."

The fluid in the egg chamber begins to drain. To your surprise, about thirty seconds later you begin to feel the hose warm up inside you. An equally-warm, viscous liquid begins to leak out of its deeply-embedded tip. It fills you up and makes you squirm. When it begins to drip out of you it does so slowly, falling in gooey clumps onto the towel lining the floor.

The egg drains out with the fluid. The hose stretches conspicuously as the egg is pushed down its length. You lift your heavy head just enough to see it traveling down the hose and heading straight for you.

Your brain is screaming at you. This isn't right. Human bodies aren't meant to incubate eggs. Not Pokémon eggs, anyway. You try to vocalize your concerns, but all that comes out is a garbled groan. The woman leans over you with the sanitary wipe and blots your chin. You hadn't even realized you were drooling.

The egg bumps up against your outer flesh. The woman readjusts the metallic apparatus, stretching you wider than you would have ever thought possible. With a pulse from the machine the egg pushes its way inside your welcoming body. You emit a noise somewhere between a cry and a moan as it rubs the sensitive flesh around your opening and forces its way up into your birth canal.

You shout and groan as the egg is part pushed, part sucked inside of you. Its girth hurts a bit, but you find your body surprising able to stretch and accommodate it. You gasp as it forces its way to a place so deep you can only assume it has to be your womb. After one last pulse from the machine your body pulls the egg into its proper gestation area. The egg settles inside you with a strangely-satisfying heaviness.

You reach for your own stomach and slowly massage it. The egg has bloated you, and you look as though you're partway through a pregnancy.

The woman removes the hose and wipes you clean with a third wipe. It still gives you a buzz of arousal. What's in those things?

"All right, the procedure was a success. Your body is now incubating the egg. It should hatch once you walk about five kilometers with it in there."

Fluid is still dripping from between your legs. You can hardly tell if it's yours or the machine's.

Realizing the trauma is over, your body apparently ceases its adrenaline production. Despite your best efforts to stay alert it isn't long before you find yourself nodding off in the chair. The last thing you remember is the strange Pokéstop woman standing over you, writing something down on her clipboard.

You awaken on a small white medical cot. It takes you a moment to remember the strange events that transpired before your "nap". Once you recall, you immediately glance down at your abdomen. It's swollen and round. So it wasn't a dream, then.

You stagger to your feet, noting the new weight of your bloated stomach. It shifts around inside as you walk, a constant reminder of your new status as a human incubator. When you're in a standing position the egg settles low in your womb, pressing on you in ways that leave you distractingly aroused.

Nobody seems to be watching you in your current room. There's a door with an "EXIT" sign above it on the far wall. You waddle over to it and try the knob. To your slight shock it opens without issue, and leads out the side of the building. After double-checking to make sure all your clothing has been put back on you (it has), you wander outside.

The sensation of the hefty egg pushing on all your sensitive parts is driving you madder and madder with each step. You have to go five kilometers like this? There's no way you'll make it. No unless you can find somewhere private to...

You spot a thick-trunked tree behind the small building. It's not much, but it will shield you enough.

You barely even make it to the tree before your hand is down your pants and you're playing with yourself. You slide down gingerly against the tree trunk, mindful of your gravid stomach. Your legs sprawl practically of their own will, and you begin furiously stroking your hot, wet flesh. Your free hand toys with your breasts. You let out a small, restrained moan.

You've never masturbated in public before. It somehow almost adds to the thrill of the act.

Your fingers are deep inside yourself when you hear something nearby. Voices. Oh good, a Pokéstop!

You freeze against the tree trunk. You hear the building's front door open, then close. The voices fade away.

You find yourself strangely almost...disappointed. As if a part of you wanted to get caught.

You sure are having a lot of novel experiences today.

Regardless, as soon as the distraction is gone you resume your impassioned self love session. You discover that jostling your stomach with your free hand produces a ripple of inner pleasure as the egg rubs you in all the right interior spots. You begin bouncing your stomach almost mindlessly, a dopey grin on your face as you revel in the intense arousal. Your new belly is so big and bouncy and fun and hot and–

You clench your teeth and groan as a sudden orgasm claims you. Your entire body quakes, your core pulsates rhythmically, and you wipe a bead of sweat from your brow as you lean your head back against the tree trunk and pant.

After that, walking doesn't prove quite as difficult – but you have the distinct feeling you'll be engaging in several more sessions like this over the next five kilometers.

It's a long five kilos. You waddle down tree-lined roads, through busy streets, and eventually through a small forest before you start to notice any internal changes. But the farther you walk the more the egg you're incubating begins to move and shift inside you. It also feels just the slightest bit warmer. Something is coming alive in there.

At one point you have to stop and take another "break" to relieve your excitement. As you're hiding out in the woods you hear two women walking the path with some accompanying Pokémon. You steal a glance over a bush at them, and notice they are both heavily pregnant. The connection finally makes itself – the pregnant women you've been seeing on Pokémon journeys are probably incubating eggs just like you are.

After your lust is (temporarily) sated again, you're hustling through the rest of the forest when you feel a pressure in your stomach that you haven't felt before. The egg seems to be sitting even lower than usual. Then you hear something. A crack.

Your body apparently recognizes that something is trying to get out of it. You're barely able to make it off the forest path when your body begins inducing labor. Clenching pains shoot through you. You all but collapse into the grass, hurriedly pulling off your shorts and underwear. You cry out as you feel your body expanding to push out whatever must have hatched from the egg.

You writhe on the ground for what feels like hours, groaning as you struggle to push the baby out. At one point you hear a couple of voices. Before, you were able to hide yourself, but now you can hardly move. You reluctantly accept that whomever comes through this way is going to see you giving live birth on the forest floor.

A few moments later two women emerge from a thicket just off the path. You manage to realize it's the two pregnant women you saw earlier.

Their eyes widen as they settle upon you, naked from the waist down and spreadeagled on the grass. They waddle over to you and immediately ask if you're all right. You're unable to answer them, as another contraction tears through you and breaks up your thought process.

"Okay, we'll help you out," one of them says. "We've done this a bunch of times." They kneel at your feet and stare down at your exposed crotch. You might normally feel embarrassed, but at that moment you are far too distracted. The baby is working its way out of you, whether you like it or not. It wants out.

One of the women holds your legs apart. The other leans in and begins gently caressing your engorged flesh. "It's okay," she whispers, "just breathe. God, you really shouldn't have been journeying along while you're incubating."

You grit your teeth as another wave ripples through you. The strange woman's fingers help you stretch a little wider. Your body pushes on its own, and this time you feel as though you may actually have made some progress. Something is nosing its way out of you.

"I see it!" the woman exclaims. "Well, a little bit of it. It's purple!"

You don't have time to rack your brain for a list of all the purple Pokémon in the world. The first woman leans down and wipes the sweat from your face as you let out a cry and push with all your might.

You feel something spread your lips and begin to emerge from you. It feels smooth, and slick, almost like a...

"It's an Ekans!"

The first woman reaches down and collects your newborn Pokémon in her arms. The second helps guide the shattered bits of egg out of you, your body wanting to be rid of it all. Once everything is out (making quite a mess of the grass beneath you), you carefully sit up. The woman hands you the...snake, you birthed. You had a snake inside you all this time? That's kind of scary. But it doesn't seem at all hostile towards you. In fact it coils right up on your stomach, then stretches its lanky body up to your face and flicks its tongue on you a few times.

"Hi, Ekans," you coo, trying to make the best of your new snake child.

Once you're strong enough to stand, the women help you get your clothes back on. You're sore, but not as sore as you'd expected to be. Maybe because Ekans is so smooth and relatively thin.

"You were lucky to get a Pokémon like Ekans as your first," one of the women eventually says. "This is your first, right?"

You nod at her.

"I thought so. Next time make sure you have a partner to travel with! All full-service Pokéstops – the ones that offer egg services – have aftercare rooms where they let you wait until someone else undergoes the procedure, so you can travel together."

You think of the room you woke up in. "Yeah, I, um, I left without talking to anyone after the...'procedure'."

The woman nodded knowingly. "Yeah, probably don't wanna do that again."

"I'm probably not gonna do this whole thing again," you mumble.

"Fair enough. It does get easier every time though. And I even think of it as a little bit...I don't know. Exciting." She shrugs, a small, sheepish grin on her face.

You thank them profusely for their help. By that point you really just want to head home for the day, and they seem to understand that. They smile and tell you that they hope to see you around again.

And so you begin the long journey home. You let your new Ekans lie draped across your shoulders, tasting everything around it with its flickering tongue. Every step makes you feel oddly empty inside. It felt so nice to be filled with a big, meaty egg...

On the way home you pass the "full service" Pokéstop once again. You pause briefly in front of it, one hand caressing your now-flat abdomen.

No. You shake your head and move on. Not today. I'm too exhausted.

No, not today.

First thing the next morning you're back at the Pokéstop, asking the woman at the desk what kinds of eggs they have on hand for incubation.


End file.
